Meeting of minds
by sandmanfan
Summary: Set just after Sam left for Stanford, Dean and John are butting heads until another hunter appears, and seems to offer Dean a way out. Link between 'Bearer of all Light' and it's sequel.
1. Chapter 1 And the thunderheads rolled in

First posted on UnGen, this story is a three part short that links 'Bearer of all light' with its sequel, 'Better to burn out, than fade away'.

Meeting of minds, breaking of hearts

Chapter 1 – And the thunderheads rolled in

Dean focused on the wide, grease spot, slowly soaking into the split wooden surface of the table. He didn't need to look up to see the out of date 'Buick Calendar' behind the till, or hear the soft country rock on the radio, all of which told him this diner was pretty unremarkable. Oily food, white trash waitress and those all too familiar grease spots all came as standard.

Transient drifters came and went unnoticed; ordered their own favourite poison and drifted back to their shadowy lives…until the need for their next fix of fat.

John sat in the booth opposite his son, but made no attempt at small talk. He was a man who spoke only when he'd something to say and right now, he was lost in his own world, full of dark and malevolent thoughts. Thoughts he'd been trying to push out of his mind for a while now, but couldn't seem to quite push hard enough.

Dean had only eaten three mouthfuls of scrambled egg skillet but already felt nauseous, nothing wrong with the food – just the company. For the last two weeks, spending any time with the old man had been a trial and he was now nearing his own personal threshold.

He'd never felt anything quite like this before. Always the peacekeeper and happy to fulfil that role, Dean was used to being the one to get in the middle, the one who took the flack from both sides without complaint. But now he was brimming over with an inner rage and he could pinpoint the exact time it'd started.

The day Sam had walked out; been pushed away by the constant arguments, the incessant orders, the butting of heads…and had headed for a better life without them; _without him._

He'd been on the verge of vomiting even then; his body needing to purge itself of the intense resentment he felt towards his father, the man he held singularly responsible for his loss. But the good soldier, forever inside, controlled him more than his emotions ever could and, once again, he sat and waited to be told what to do, what to think, and what to feel by the man sitting in front of him.

With a gruff voice, John nodded his chin to Dean's breakfast special. "You gonna finish that?"

"I'm done."

With no acknowledgement the older man threw a handful of bills on the table, got to his feet and made for the door. With Dean automatically falling into his usual place, one step behind, they walked in silence towards the large black chevy.

Climbing assertively into the driver's seat, John waited for his son to slam the passenger door before turning and fixing him with a dark, poisonous stare. "Dean, this attitude of yours stops now, you got me?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." Dean's eyes tracked back to the dashboard but his tone was prickled in defence, body stoically rigid.

"Sam is gone…get over it. We still have work to do and if he couldn't hack the job, then its best he isn't here."

Dean could feel his perfectly constructed emotional floodgates begin to crumble.

Even with Sam over 300 miles away, the need to defend his brother's character was overwhelming and it couldn't be denied. "You think he left because he couldn't do the job?" He swivelled on the bench seat and looked at his father's face, desperately searching for any sign of true feeling from the older man. "Are you crazy? He left because he couldn't stand living with you, with your drills and your 'need to know'._ You drove him out dad."_

John glared at his eldest son as he felt himself rise to the bait. He'd never heard Dean speak to him like this; he didn't like it one bit and never wanted to hear it again, so when he answered, he spoke slow, loud and clear. "You'd better watch your mouth with me _boy_, you're not too old for me to knock some manners into you. What Sam did, he did for himself. He's a grown man and he wanted to leave, so were better off without him. If his mind's not on the job he's a liability and you know that, just as well as I do."

Dean felt the last of his resolve crumble under the condemnation he was being forced to listen to. He turned to face his father full on, his tone accusing. "Better off without him? _You made him leave,_ _you drove him out, and you told him to never come back…SO, WHAT HAPPEN'S NOW, DAD? AM I NEXT?"_

John felt an icy hand of rage clench in the pit of his stomach and he locked eyes with Dean for what felt like an eternity, but said nothing. Just stared out; and immovable force clashing with an unbreakable object. Dean waited a full five seconds before opening the car door and climbing out, the frame rattling as he slammed it in his wake. He stalked off down the street; hands thrust deep in his pockets and didn't look back.

Sitting completely still in the drivers' seat, hands clenched tight around the wheel, John tried to breath. If he was honest he'd known this was coming, in fact he was surprised it'd taken so long. Dean was hurting; he knew that, beyond a shadow of a doubt…because he was hurting too.

Reaching into his pocket, he found his old leather wallet and withdrew a small square of yellowed paper. He rubbed the tiny stained photo between thumb and forefinger slowly, almost reverently, as if somehow the small contact would cause the image to spring to life. It'd languished, folded and hidden in his wallet for over twenty years, only occasionally seeing the light of day. The smiling face of Mary Winchester gazed out at him with such love and joy written all over it that John could hardly bear to look at her. In her arms she cradled Sammy, his face a strange mess of fledgling emotion and at her side, tiny Dean sat beaming into the camera. John remembered how they'd both been convinced this had been Sammy's first smile, and had forced him to capture it for posterity.

_He'd been convinced it was wind,_ but once those two put their heads together it was easier just to agree and go along for the ride.

Now he sat hunched in the safety of the black car, looking at the image of the three most beloved people he had ever known, and wondered, _how come he was sitting alone._

ooooo

Dean didn't know how long he'd walked, or how far he'd travelled and he didn't much care; he'd no idea where he was headed, hadn't even considered that far ahead. For a while he wandered aimlessly in a numb stupor through the streets, barely avoiding the bustling people who pushed and jostled each other as they rushed to live their important, 'normal' lives. At that moment, Dean hated every single one of them.

It was only when he found himself sitting on a park bench as the sun went down, that he realise just how long he'd been drifting. Looking up at the darkening sky as the thunderheads heavy with rain rolled in on the horizon, he couldn't help thinking this was strangely appropriate. The night Sam left had been marked by a storm too, a big, threatening thunderstorm that mirrored the emotions of that night. Thinking back, he remembered the look of determination on his brothers' face as he'd marched out of the door and down the porch steps, into the downpour and out of _his_ life.

Dean watched as people ran for cover from the drizzle. Was Sam was one of those people now? _One of the normal ones?_ He'd spent so much of his childhood doing everything in his power to ensure his baby brother had a taste of 'normal'…and now all that effort, all that sacrifice had come back to bite him in the ass…and it hurt.

On the other side of the road, a luminescent beer light suddenly flickered to life, casting a blue and red hue across the dampening sidewalk. _'Yeah, a drink looks real good right about now.'_ He stood and slowly and made his meandering way towards the alcohol and hopefully, a little oblivion.

ooooo

Dean embraced the numbness so he didn't have to think, didn't have to remember, didn't have to feel. He drained the amber liquid from the tiny glass in one gulp, the whisky burning its way down his throat as he swallowed; not his drink of choice maybe, but it had its uses. _'Ah, Jack, you're the best anaesthetic in the world, dude.' _

Gesturing to the buxom blond waitress serving the other patron and pointing to his shot glass, he gave her the best heavy lidded, lop sided grin he could muster. She noticed the smile straight away, already decided she liked this one, and sashayed in his direction…leaning forward to afford Dean a very generous view of the goods on offer. He tried to focus on the numerous blurry images of the barmaid's huge chest, but it just made him feel queasy.

Looking into her eyes instead, he treated her to a wide drunken smile. "You are one stunning figure of a woman, you know that." He'd no idea how slurry he sounded, or how corny.

Smiling warmly back at him, she shook her head slowly. "And, I think you've had enough, sugar. You got a ride?"

"You offering?"

She giggled coyly. "Not you're lucky day, hon." She wiggled her ring finger in his face showing her wedding band, and winked suggestively.

'Ah well.' If he were honest with himself, there was no way he could have managed anything other than a brisk lie down anyway. He stood on shaky legs and watched as she sidled away to start flirting with the next drunken low life. _The freakishly tall, lanky lowlife that reminded him of Sam every time he'd looked up_, but then everyone reminded him of Sam. And suddenly he had to get out, _fast._ Making his way to the door, not bothering to look back, he pushed past a group of new customers as they made their way in.

As the cool night air hit him, he felt the bile rise up in his throat, barely making it around the side of the building before 'Jack' made an unwelcome and colourful return. With tremors wracking his body, and one hand braced against cool stone, Dean vomited whisky, bile and pain in equal measure.

Wiping his chin with the back of one hand, he sniffed hard and spat, taking a deep breath and pushing both palm heels into sore eye sockets. He tried to stifle the stinging tears threatening to form, tried to allow his body to relax against the wall, making a distinct and concerted effort _not_ to think of what Sam might be doing right about now.

A then, a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye jolted him from his thoughts; he looked up to see a dark figure moving in.

The first punch drove into his sternum, forcing him forward onto his knees; the second, arched towards his temple as if in slow motion, but he knew he couldn't avoid it. The sharp ring on his attacker's finger sliced through soft skin barely missing his eye as it clouted him to the ground, and he grunted involuntarily as a booted foot slammed into his side and flipped him onto his back.

In a distant part of his mind, Dean could remember being told that the human body could only deal with one intense pain at a time, and as he lay there, on the cold wet ground, he wondered if that were true as the black shiny boot came driving into his ribs once more.

TBC

Any and all reviews are gratefully received, and thank you to all those who have e-mailed me and reviewed so far – you rock!


	2. Chapter 2 A hunt of my own

Meeting of minds, breaking of hearts

Chapter 2 – A hunt of my own

Dean twisted and rolled into a protective ball as he felt his ribs grind under the vicious onslaught. The pain was unbearable, and yet, at the same time it was a kind of comfort…at least he could still feel something. And on some level he believed he deserved it, maybe that's why he couldn't get his arms and legs to work, maybe that's why he couldn't fight back.

The attacker never uttered a single word, just continued slamming with his boot, causing as much unrelenting damage as he could while Dean did nothing to defend himself, while he just stared at the wet sidewalk and took his punishment. He never knew what made it all stop, hell; he didn't know why it started in the first place…but it did stop. And then there was the sound of running feet though puddles, and a deep, ground out voice speaking to him real close to his face, then strong hands on his chest and shoulder.

"Up you get, son, can you walk?" Dean struggled to open sticky eyes at the sound of the gruff voice. It didn't sound like John, and once the face swam into focus he found himself staring at a stranger, older than his father by a good ten years but equally strong and confident.

The man cupped Dean's cheek in one rough hand and gently straightened his head, peering at him in the eyes and letting out a barked laugh. "Well, you sure look like a Winchester to me."

At the mention of his name, Dean straightened against the wall and appraised the stranger more thoroughly. His face appeared haggard and wrinkled, making him look like he'd been dragged through life rather than lived it, but his eyes shone piercing blue with a rare intensity, and it was obvious this man knew Dean.

"Come on, son; let's get you out of here before he comes back with friends. I'm not as young as I used to be, not sure I could fight off more than one." He hooked one arm round Dean's waist and grabbed his belt, linking the other arm over his shoulder.

The ground buckled slightly for Dean as a wave of vertigo hit him when he rose to his feet, but he'd had worse. "Do I know you?" His words sounded slurred, but now, it was as much due to a split lip and swollen jaw as it was to the alcohol.

Blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight, the stranger at his side gave a wide grin and continued to walk them both towards the roadside, back to his truck. "Well, I guess you do now."

ooooo

Dean sat propped on the bed roll and watched Jacob throw another log on the fire. He followed the embers with his eyes as they rose in a mushroom cloud of sparks into the inky sky. As the hissing and popping as the flames took hold, the smell of warm aromatic pine wafting on the smoke was almost hypnotic.

"Here." Jacob popped the lid off a bottle of beer and handed it to Dean who took it and immediately downed a generous gulp, feeling better all the time. The deep cut on his cheek was barely throbbing anymore and the beer and painkiller cocktail was filling the space left by Jack nicely.

The deserted camp-site had no actual tents, just bed-rolls and a fire, but did have brewed coffee and beer in abundance. Not usually one for camping, Dean couldn't help feeling that _this he could get used to_. He moved slightly as his ribs ached, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it was near to impossible so he just eased back on the thin roll Jacob had provided and let the beer do its work.

"So, you're a hunter then." Dean had already noticed the thin line of salt and the cats' eye shells littering the ground.

Jacob grinned slyly, raising a creased brow. "What gave it away?" He paused and considered the younger man staring back. "Never did meet your daddy, but his reputation I have heard of, and I've met you before…" He pointed at Dean with the neck of his bottle. "…few years back now, when you and your brother were staying at Caleb's."

Dean shook his head slowly and downed another mouthful of brew, still scanning each feature of Jacobs face for any hint of recognition. He spoke slowly. "Don't remember you."

Letting out a hearty, loud laugh, Jacob almost choked on his beer. "That daddy of yours sure has made you suspicious, hasn't he? Where is he anyway?"

Unsure of what to tell the older man, Dean took another gulp, using the time to think before sidestepping the question. "He's on a hunt…So, what are you doing out here?"

Another sly grin. "On a hunt of my own." Jacob appraised Dean over the top of the brown bottle dangling from his fingers, and couldn't help but notice the sudden instinctual interest in the young hunter's eyes.

"Oh?"

"Yeah…too old for it if I'm honest, but I've been hunting this thing a long while now, and I'm so close I can taste it."

The look of hunger in the old man's eyes was magnetic and Dean felt himself drawn forwards like a moth to a flame. "So what are you hunting exactly?"

"Ever heard of the _'Consecro',_ Dean?" Again Jacob's eyes burned through him, with a heat born of passion.

"Can't say I have, but it sounds mean." Another hearty laugh from Jacob and with all the beer and remnants of Jack, Dean couldn't help but laugh too.

"It means 'Sanctified' in Latin; it's the name of a book."

Dean furrowed his brow in mock disbelief and reached for the next bottle. "You're hunting a book?"

"In a way." The smile on the older man's face gave way to another emotion all together as he focused his eyes on the fire. "This book had a job to do. It was the first ever devils trap and it _holds_ demons like birds in a cage, only they're in a slow, painful everlasting torment. Truest hell for demons you might say. There's at least one in there that's a mean, sorry son of a bitch."

"Why would you want a book that traps demons? Why not just exorcise them and send them back to hell?" Dean was confused either by the beer, the story or both, he wasn't sure.

Jacob leaned forwards, his eyes glazing over as he spoke. "Why would I just send them back _home_? Send 'em to where they came from anyway? What kind a hell is that for them?" Dean couldn't help feeling admiration for the deep hatred in his voice. "What hunter _wouldn't_ want a cell for demons boy? Think!"

He watched as the older man's expression morphed from hatred into vengeance, it was a sickeningly familiar look. The desire for retribution painted across the old man's craggy features was the same as John's, and Dean had seen it on his fathers face many times before. "Sounds dangerous."

"Ain't everything in our world? Besides as long as the trap remain unbroken, it can't get out." He chuckled to himself. "You probably wouldn't want to be there if it ever did."

"No. Probably not."

Jacob watched Dean pensively till he caught his eye. "You know, I could do with some help on this one, these old bones…" He patted his arm. "…they're not as quick as they used to be. Course, only if your daddy wouldn't object. I don't want you getting into any trouble."

The slight frown on Dean's face may have been missed by most, but Jacob was watching for it. "No trouble. I'll help, besides, I guess I owe you."

The silence was deafening as both men sat staring into the flames. Every so often, a leaf caught in the smoke and twisted in the hot air, married to the drifting sparks floating upwards, and Jacob couldn't help the slight grin once again playing across his lips; this had played out like clockwork.

ooooo

John pulled up by the side of the road and flipped open his phone, a deep frown creasing his face at the name on the screen. There'd been no sign of Dean in any of the bars and diners he'd tried, and he'd just decided to head back to the motel and wait it out when he'd heard the tone.

He answered gruffly; no time for small talk. "Singer, what do you want?"

Bobby was equally curt. "I ain't phoning to socialise, John, so listen up. Had a call from a friend, tells me you and your boys may be in trouble and not know it. You heard of a hunter named Jacob Hearn?"

John racked his brain for any memory. "I know of him. Hasn't he been tied up hunting some kind of relic?"

"Yeah. A book. A pretty damned dangerous book by all accounts, and now he thinks he's found it. Recon he's planning on stealing it from some collector."

"So, what's this got to do with me?"

"I'm getting to that. Are the boys with you?"

Even on the phone, the urgency in Bobby's tone was tangible and John paused, unsure of exactly how much to tell his old friend. No one knew Sam was at Stanford and he was happy to keep it that way for the time being. "Sam's not here but I know where he is and he's safe. Dean's around, but he's been gone most of the day.

"In that case, Winchester, you'd better listen good, cos there's something you need to know."

ooooo

The following morning, Jacob followed Dean's instructions, pulling up one block away from the motel and turned to his passenger. "You ain't changed your mind, have you son?"

Dean didn't meet his eyes. "No. I just have some, _family business,_ to deal with; I can meet you somewhere later tonight."

Jacob smiled, nodding his head slowly. "You know the disused railway station on the west side of town? There's a bridge about a mile along the tracks heading south, meet me there at ten, then we'll head out."

Dean nodded, and after a pause followed by a deep breath, he climbed from the truck and with a resigned droop to his shoulders, he headed back to the motel room and his father.

Twisting in his seat, Jacob watched him go, waiting till he was out of earshot before reaching deep into his coat pocket and dragging out his mobile phone. The number was on speed dial and took only a second to connect. He spoke quietly, not wanting to be overheard. "Stanley…yeah, it's tonight…no, he's the perfect candidate, knew he would be…Yeah, I'll bring him to you…and Stanley, next time I ask you to give someone a scare beating, don't half kill'em, if the kid weren't a Winchester we wouldn't have our patsy right about now."

Jacob closed his phone with a snap and glanced once more at the vanishing figure in the distance, then slowly, he started up the engine and pulled back onto the road. He had preparations to make.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3 Enough for one lifetime

Meeting of minds, breaking of hearts

Chapter 3 – Enough for one lifetime

"You going somewhere?"

Dean froze, his hand still hovering over the open duffle on the bed as he heard John's gruff voice from the doorway. _'You could say that.' _"Yeah…I've found a job. A hunt." He refused to look round, continuing to pack the rest of his clothes, stuffing them in the bag as fast as he could. He really didn't want to draw this out any longer than he had to.

"Alone?"

"No. Someone… a hunter, needs a hand with a job and I said I would help him out, shouldn't be gone more than a couple of days." _'Like you'd give a damn.'_

John took a step further in through the door. "Were you planning on telling me?

Dean went to turn but checked himself, his returning resentment making him speak defiantly. "Just told you!"

He could hear the hitch in his father's breath and it was easy to imagine the look of incandescent rage in his eyes, he'd seen it a hundred times before, only usually it was directed at someone else._ 'Yeah, sucks to be you dad.'_

John's voice was a growl, a whole octave lower than it had been. "Dean, you….."

Dean spun round to face his father, a burning anger in his eyes and a coiling heat in his gut, ready for anything John could throw his way. But John had stopped, and just stood looking at his son from the open door, his eyes falling on his cut and bruised face, a mix of emotions that Dean couldn't place clouding his expression.

Eventually he seemed to arrive at a decision and spoke, unexpectedly softly. "Son, I need you to listen to what I have to say." He paused; looking from the cut marring the younger mans face to the packed bag on the bed. "Please, Dean."

Instantly disarmed, Dean was speechless. The old man_ never_ used the 'P' word; it just wasn't in his vocabulary. Curiosity overtaking his anger, he gave his father a small, uncertain nod, but held his ground.

John closed the door and moved forward into the room, sitting on the edge of the other bed. He took a deep breath, and tried to overcome the deep discomfort he was feeling at having to deal with any kind of emotion. And he looked everywhere, but at Dean.

"Dean, what happened with Sam, I never wanted things to go down like that. I know I've always pushed you boys, pushed you hard, but I only do it because I have to keep you safe. Keep you both safe." John paused and stared at the floor, elbows on his knees as if needing to compose himself before continuing. "I know I may not be winning any parenting awards here, but I'm doing the best I can." He looked up then, locking eyes with his son. "I just wish Mary was here, she would know what to say."

The mention of his mother hit Dean hard, and try as he might, he couldn't hold on to his precious anger any more as John continued to speak with a softness that was unexpected. "Son, for what it's worth, I don't want you to go, but if you need to leave, I won't stand in your way. Think I've done enough of that for one lifetime."

Dean felt a deep shiver from the centre of his belly, resonating out into his bones, and looked into John's face…and for the second time in as many weeks, his heart broke in two as a single tear tracked down his father's rough cheek.

"Dad, I…." The words wouldn't come, but the memories were there in blinding detail.

_He s__tared, in wide eyed innocence at the man who was his hero, the man who was entrusted him with his most precious burden and sent him running down the stairs. 'You have to look after your brother Dean; it's your job now'_. 'Yeah, but who's going to look after you dad?'

Dean paced forwards as John stood and encircled the older man with tight arms. It took a long moment for him to respond but when he did, Dean felt the force of his embrace melt away the years of emotional neglect, and he gulped down the feeling like a drowning man taking his first breath of air.

It lasted a full minute but was over far too soon, and as his father pulled away Dean fought to regain his self-control. He sat heavy on the bed and looked at the half full duffle bag spewing clothes. "I told Jacob I would meet him later tonight."

Taking a deep breath, all emotion stowed away and secured, John was once again all business. "I have another job you need to do first, and then you can go help this Jacob."

Dean's heart sank.

He closed his eyes tight, nothing had really changed, he was still the grunt; there to toe the line and follow orders like an obedient dog. He took a breath, but before he had a chance to speak, John sat on the bed beside him and spoke, his voice tender.

"I need you to go check on Sam. Make sure he's using his head. Just because he's not here doesn't mean he's not in danger from what's out there in the dark." He cocked his head and looked at his eldest, solemnly.

Dean just stared at his father, eyes wide and fixed before he was able to whisper an answer. "Yes sir."

"And, if you can help it, try not to be seen. He needs to have a fresh start, away from the job, away from me." He paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Don't worry about Jacob, I'll get a message to him, let him know what's going on."

Dean just nodded; the large knot in his throat preventing him from speaking further. Then, John slowly stood, patted his son on the shoulder and reached into his pocket, handing over the keys to the Impala.

ooooo

Under the bridge, Jacob had already been waiting a full ten minutes and was none too happy. He nervously flicked ash from the end of his third cigarette and glanced at his watch. The noise that drew his attention would have been unnoticed by most, but his instincts were those of a hunter.

"Dean? That you, boy?"

The answer was a low, oily growl that flowed from the shadows like liquid tar. "Dean couldn't make it, Jacob."

For just one second Jacob felt confused before he worked out who the speaker was. He smiled wryly "John Winchester. Heard about you, kinda tough guy, huh? At least you sure are with your boys."

John ignored the bait, keeping hidden deep in shadows, making no attempt to reveal himself. "I've come to find out why, Jacob. Why Dean?"

The old man searched the dark like a predator. "What you talkin' about John? The boy was just gonna help me out, that's all." It was Jacob's voice that was oily now, an unsuccessful attempt to sound sincere.

But John really wasn't in the mood. "Don't play games with me; I know about the book, I know what you had planned." His voice resonated once again through the dark. "Why Dean, Jacob?"

For a moment Jacob remained silent, desperately attempting to subdue his raging heartbeat. He'd faced demons that hadn't filled him with this much dread, but he'd be dammed if he'd let this upstart get the better of him, even if he were the boy's father. "Because he was there." He spat the words out like bile as he nervously paced in the mud. "He was there, and he was open to it and he was bleeding emotion like it was his life's blood. Damn well primed for possession. I couldn't have hoped for a better opportunity. It was meant to be."

He moved around wildly, trying and failing to locate the unseen hunter. "One life, John. Just one sacrifice to destroy the purest evil you could imagine." He swung his head from side to side scanning the night for any sign. "You would have done the same thing."

The answer didn't come straight away, and was a deep whisper that seemed to assault his ears from every direction at once. "No, Jacob. I wouldn't."

Jacob angered slightly at the hint of disapproval from the other man. "If not him, then someone else, Winchester, it's gonna be done, one way or another. Not as if you can stop me, so just walk away like a good boy, go back to where you came from and keep your damn mouth shut."

"I can stop you, Jacob."

The old man shook his head and spoke slowly, taking a step toward the shadows, hoping to see where the other hunter was concealed. "What you gonna do about it, John? Kill me? Think you can kill a human…hunter?"

The voice from the dark was terrifyingly low and menacing. "You planned to use my son, Jacob. To stand by and watch as some hellish demon invaded him. You were going to do nothing, while that thing sank into my boy and took hold, leaving him helpless, leaving him scared. All just so you could kill one demon." John stepped forward out of the gloom and faced Jacob for the first time, the veins in his neck pulsing with barely contained rage. There was no mistaking the threat in his voice. "No one messes with my boys, Jacob."

He looked through cold, hooded eyes at the older hunter and saw him reach inside his coat. Knowing what that meant, John levelled his gun at Jacob's head and without a second thought, pulled the trigger. Jacob Hearn was propelled backwards, mouth wide open, arms spinning wildly as he crashed to the muddy floor and laid still, eyes fixed and staring into the midnight sky.

Walking over to the stricken man, John toed the corpse and saw the glint of gun metal as the concealed pistol fell from his waistband, the fact he'd shot in self defence made no difference to him. He squatted over the man he'd put down, riffling through his pockets and coming away with a bunch of keys and a wallet. Jacob's truck wasn't far away; he'd seen it on the way in. 'Have to get rid of that, as well as the body.'

John Winchester knew exactly what he was prepared to do to protect his family, just as he knew what he was prepared to do to destroy the yellow eyed demon. He would make things right with Sam, eventually, and he'd already planned what he'd tell Dean; that the old man had skipped town on another job, but would probably be back one day.

Dean would forget after a while, John was sure of that. He would _make sure_ of that. There'd be better memories for his son to hark back to and John would make sure of that too, because _no one messed with his boys._

Slowly, he lifted his face to the night sky, looking at the stars, and then turned and started the long walk back to the truck and the tools of his trade. He had a lot of work to do and the night was almost over.

The End


End file.
